


You May Literally be the Death of Me

by highnyoom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, blood mention, its not really violent but there is some mild body horror, not because of anything kinky i feel like thats important to add
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:36:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highnyoom/pseuds/highnyoom
Summary: A bomb goes off at Talon HQ, causing a building to collapse on McCree and Hanzo. The situation may cause a side-effect of a better friendship, or not.





	You May Literally be the Death of Me

”Jesse!” Hanzo shouted. He was barely balanced on the second floor of a quickly crumbling building. McCree was below him, bloodied and clutching onto a pillar by the stairs. Hanzo fell to the floor, unable to hold his footing any longer, pieces of glass and ceiling slicing into his hands and chest. He scrambled toward his teammate, reaching over the edge of crumbled remains of the second floor. Dust and rubble cascaded down from above, darkening the room and making it almost impossible to breathe. “Quick, grab my hand!” He exclaimed, crouching and reaching out to the cowboy. 

 

“Shit, shit! Fuck! Hanzo, holy shit!” There were tears in his eyes, he was gasping. Two Talon agents were below them in bloody pieces. When Hanzo pulled McCree up, he collapsed forward, wheezing alarmingly. 

 

“We must get out of here!” Hanzo yelled over the roaring in his ears. Everything was vibrating beneath him. He pulled McCree to his feet, helping him to stagger to an exit. He wanted desperately to check on the gunslinger, but he knew it had to wait. He found an opening in the wall on the third floor, but no way to get there safely with McCree, so he turned around. That moment, Hanzo heard a sickening crack, and knew he had to move immediately. He threw McCree over a gap in the floor and jumped, narrowly avoiding the ceiling collapsing where they previously stood. He gagged, coughing roughly. He tried to inhale, but was again choked by the dust and smoke. They had to get out. McCree wasn’t getting up, so he hoisted the man onto his back and started to climb to the third floor, to where he saw the exit before. 

 

It was going to be bad. If they were caught on the outside of the building while it collapsed they were done for, but if they stayed to look for a different exit, both of them would surely die. He didn’t know what was wrong with his teammate yet, but from the sounds of it, it was nothing good. Hanzo’s vision was swimming with black spots by the time he pulled them both up to the opening in the wall. Smoke was pouring through the gap and he couldn’t see how firm the wall was for climbing. There was no choice anymore, he pulled himself over the edge, making sure the gunslinger on his back was lucid enough to be able to hang on tightly.

 

“Han-” McCree attempted, “Han-” McCree coughed dryly into his shoulder, his breath rattling in Hanzo’s ear.

 

“Jesse, just hold on a little longer! I will not let us die here!” Hanzo could see a bit better now that he could breathe again, but they were in no way out of danger. He tried to climb down the wall as quickly as possible, but it was difficult with McCree on his back. He looked down once to gauge their distance, but it was probably still a good seven or eight meters to the ground. He gritted his teeth and steeled himself mentally. His legs were screaming, but it wasn’t time to stop. He kept climbing downward, feet eventually able to find purchase on a window ledge at the bottom of the second floor. He had to turn his head away from the smoke billowing out so that he wasn't blinded. He re-positioned McCree and made sure he was still alive, getting a weak thumbs-up from the man, before continuing his trek to the ground, making it to the bottom swiftly.  The second he got his full weight on the ground, his knees buckled beneath him, and he didn’t even have a second to think before the ground was rushing up to meet his face. McCree tumbled over onto his back, and tried to prop himself up on his prosthetic arm, the other clutching his side tightly. There was shrapnel and glass in the man’s legs.

 

“Th-thanks. I was a goner back there.” McCree stuttered, barely able to unclench his jaw through pain. He was pale and sweating profusely. He gulped and looked away from his hand with his eyes squeezed tightly as he slowly removed it from the wound on his side. Blood started flowing freely through several deep, nauseating gashes. “Fuck. God.” He tore strips of his serape off to wrap around his waist so that he could try to walk without bleeding out.

 

“I apologize,” Hanzo whispered, “I didn’t notice they had bombs until I saw you running.” He shakily got to his feet, holding an arm out. The other man took it with a trembling hand. Hanzo helped him to his feet, and put the gunslinger’s prosthetic around his neck. They started traveling toward their original post-mission meetup point. In the distance, Hanzo could see Tracer running toward them at full speed.

 

“Winston, I found them, they’re both alive! Comms appear to be nonfunctioning, they’re injured.” Tracer was shouting details quickly over her communication device, before turning to them. She positioned herself under McCree’s shoulder to help Hanzo carry him to the van they showed up in. “I’m so glad you two came out of there. I can’t believe they would bomb their own headquarters.”

 

McCree scoffed. They knew Talon was capable of much worse than that. He had a feeling they were walking into a trap when he only saw two people inside. In truth he could spend all day thinking about all of the what-ifs and careless mistakes of the scenario, but the reality boiled down to the fact that they were never prepared for that. McCree didn’t even really know how he survived, but he wasn’t complaining. 

 

Jack was driving, McCree was made to sit in the passenger’s seat so that he could stay upright. Tracer forced a water bottle in his hand and told him to drink. The second he was secured and everybody in the van, Soldier began to drive to their pickup location, questioning them. “What happened in there, was it just the two men you mentioned before you disconnected? Were you able to complete the mission?” Their “mission” was to erase the intel about all of their Overwatch agents, and upload a virus into the Talon mainframe of what they had  _ thought _ was their base of operations in Venice. Every piece of information they had, even previous stakeouts confirmed that this was their main location. However, when they walked inside it was empty, save for the two masked agents on the first floor. If anything was ever there, they had just blown it to smithereens. 

 

McCree tried to reply, but in the haze of his injuries, words failed him. Hanzo picked up his slack and relayed the information about the mission to Jack, who swore. McCree was regretting having to sit up front with the angry old man. He looked at Tracer and Hanzo in an attempt to say, ‘ _ Don’t let him kill me after I lived through that, _ ’ but both of their expressions were grim. McCree and Tracer knew that Jack Morrison had more reason than all of them to hate Talon. They could see the barely contained rage playing under his visor. Ever since he’d found out about the true identity of Reaper a few months ago, he had a completely different attitude toward their Talon missions, accompanied by a cutthroat vendetta toward them. 

 

Jack was silent the rest of the way to their location. Hanzo took the time to nurse any injuries he had taken, which wasn’t nearly as much as McCree. He had some shrapnel to pull out of his shoulder, and some cuts on his hands and chest, nothing he couldn’t just bandage up. 

 

Winston had set up a jet rental for them. Tracer had to briefly go undercover to get it, but once they were on it they would be able to fly away from Italy freely. McCree took the opportunity to smoke while they waited for her, lighting up and pulling on the cigar like a lifeline. Jack stayed silent, and you could feel his frustration coming off of him in waves. Hanzo watched McCree wince on every drag of his cigar and couldn’t help but feel annoyed that the man was smoking after a near-death experience, but he wasn’t about to rob him of a comfort right now. His usual playful and cheery facade was gone, and the man just looked ragged and run-down. 

 

Hanzo put his head in his hands. He felt shaky and his ears were still ringing from the explosion. He looked back up at McCree, who, much to his chagrin, was also watching him. McCree looked away quickly, then back at Hanzo with a weak grin. Hanzo flushed in embarrassment  and looked down at his hands. McCree began violently hacking and coughing on the cigar, and decided it was time to put it out when Jack growled a warning at him to shut up.

 

It wasn’t long before Tracer was back and ushering them onto a plane. This was it, they were finally on the home stretch. McCree couldn’t wait to get back to his room and eat everything in the fridge at the base. He goddamn deserved it after being blown up. He regarded Hanzo with interest, and the archer caught him staring again. He looked away nervously. He didn’t know why he was struggling to say anything. He wanted to thank him, or something, but every time he looked at the archer his mind went blank. Awkwardly staring was also probably not the correct way to thank someone. He couldn’t really think to do much else. Every minute that passed brought along another wave of exhaustion as he tried to ignore the wounds all over his body. He felt grateful for the familiar tug of sleep that pulled at his senses, and slowly allowed himself to lose consciousness.

 

* * *

 

McCree awoke to a familiar blonde head, and he immediately knew he was in the infirmary. “Oh, Jesse! Welcome back to the land of the living.” Angela said, half jokingly. “I heard about what happened. I’m glad everyone is okay.” 

 

“Oh, yaknow, nothing a good doc can’t fix.” McCree said with a wink, sitting up groggily on the hospital bed.

 

“You flatter me.” She replied, double-checking his vitals since he was now fully conscious. “Hanzo came to check on you a couple of times. You’ve been asleep for a couple of days, though, part of that was influenced by me. Your wounds were deep, I wanted to make sure I got you healed up as quickly as possible, although,” the medic put her hand on her hip, “you’re gonna have some nasty scars.” 

 

McCree pulled up his shirt to see skin that looked like it had been branded. The scars were fresh and pink, knotted into thick, ropy callouses. Wavy burn lines stretched across his stomach, the skin coarse and shiny. He touched the convoluted flesh gently, remembering how he had to pull out two thick shards of glass before Hanzo got to him. He shuddered. “Well, even if I’m a bit worse for wear, at least it looks pretty badass.” He flexed his muscles, receiving a polite giggle from Angela. He pushed his hair out of his face with a grin. “Talon’s just gonna keep makin’ me look cooler.” 

 

“I feel obligated to tell you, as your doctor, not to go looking for Talon fights, but I’m glad you’re staying in good spirits.” She smiled gently. She pulled a water bottle out of a fridge near her desk and tossed it to McCree. “Drink, you’ve been asleep for long enough to be dehydrated. You’re free to go if you want though.” 

 

“Thank ya kindly Ms. Ziegler, it’s always a pleasure. I dunno what I’d do without ya.” McCree stood up, stretching. 

 

“Well let’s not overthink that particular subject, given the fact that I see you in here more than anyone,” she chimed with a nervous laugh. “Drink water, don’t over-exert yourself just yet. No alcohol!” She pointed. 

 

“Will do ma’am.” He walked out of the infirmary with a grin and a wave. He sure had a hankering for some nicotine right about now. He rounded a corner to go outside, and ran directly into a shirtless and sweaty Hanzo. “Well hello there, handsome,” He leaned against the wall with one arm, “Who ya gettin’ all dolled up for?” 

 

Hanzo huffed and rolled his eyes. “If your definition of ‘dolled-up’ is me reeking of body odor after working out, then I got ‘dolled-up’, specifically, for you, Jesse. Clearly.” He was only wearing sweatpants and had a towel around his neck, looking much different than when he wore his uniform. “Although,” he added, “That seems to be your usual odor, so I am unsurprised that you are into that.”

 

McCree grinned. So Hanzo was attempting the snooty, sarcastic game today. “Well shucks, darlin’, you shouldn’t have.” He watched the archer roll his eyes again. “You’re over here bein’ all thoughtful an’ I haven’t done a damn thing.” He was almost surprised at his own forwardness, but that’s what almost dying and being rescued by an extremely attractive bowman does to you. 

Hanzo’s expression altered quickly, betraying his guilt at being rude to the cowboy so soon after the accident, even if he wasn't fully serious. “I am glad you are well. That mission was already anticipated to be dangerous, but I had not expected a trap. I should have-”

 

McCree cut him off. “No worries,” He waved a hand, “I ain't dead, you ain't either, so I’d say the outcome was pretty damn good. Shit coulda been a lot worse. Ain’t the first time I been blown up, surely won’t be the last. If anything,  _ I _ should be thankin’ you _. _ ” 

 

Hanzo nodded. He felt like he was supposed to tiptoe around the cowboy, instead of their usual light-hearted rivalry and debates. The feeling would likely pass, but he felt guilty after watching him take the brunt of something that almost killed them.

 

McCree’s expression changed to something he couldn’t read. “Y’know,” He placed his hand flat on Hanzo’s head, much to the archer’s exasperation, then moved it toward himself, squinting like he was comparing height. “I think that bomb mighta knocked a few inches offa ya.”

 

The feeling definitely passed. He huffed and turned up his nose, feeling the oh so familiar prickle of annoyance that could only be caused by Jesse McCree. “I think that bomb gave you brain damage. Your accent sounds even more fake than usual.” Hanzo stood straighter. “If you will excuse me, I have to take a shower. You might consider doing the same.”

 

“If I ain’t mistaken, that sure sounds like an invitation.” McCree quipped. The next second was easily the best part about waking up, because multiple emotions flashed across the other man’s face before he finally settled on looking decidedly  _ miffed _ . Without responding to McCree, Hanzo walked past him swiftly, holding his chin up proudly. McCree burst out laughing and walked outside to go smoke. Riling Hanzo up was easily his new favorite pastime.

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely want to try to make this chaptered, add Genji and maybe some Reaper stuff. My muse is barely there, but these game boys are warmin me up. I'm also bad at titles and summaries. Watch me change the title 12376 times. Thanks for reading!


End file.
